


Treasure for the Senses

by happyeverafter72



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Autistic Sherlock Holmes, Case Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyeverafter72/pseuds/happyeverafter72
Summary: Holmes takes Watson on a break to his family's holiday home in Warwickshire. Their rest and relaxation is interrupted by a case from the local village.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020





	Treasure for the Senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FredTheDinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredTheDinosaur/gifts).



Holmes needed some time away from London. It was the height of summer and he had found himself becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the crowds. For obvious reasons, this had a detrimental effect on his work. If he could get away for a couple of weeks and recompose himself, that would set things back on the right track. Keeping his eyes fixed on the table and twisting his hands, he broached the subject with Watson over breakfast. 

“Watson, I feel the need to get away from London,” he said. “I cannot work like this.” 

Watson reached for his hand. “Is it alright for me to touch you?” Holmes nodded, raising his gaze to Watson’s face. Watson gently took his hand, rubbing circles into the back with his thumb. “I think that would be sensible, Holmes. You have seemed move anxious of late. Did you have anywhere in mind?” 

Holmes smiled slightly. “Mycroft and I inherited a house in Warwickshire from our parents. We used to go there for holidays as children. He never uses it, so it will be free for us to go.” 

“Tell me about it,” Watson probed. 

“It is of a middling size,” Holmes replied. “It was built at the end of the last century but has since been fitted for gas and mains water. The furnishings are comfortable. The house is situated a few miles from Wasperton, very secluded. There are large woods and a lake nearby, where we used to play.” 

“It sounds wonderful, Holmes.” 

“We could certainly make good use of the seclusion,” Holmes said, smiling properly this time and lacing his fingers with Watson’s. 

Watson laughed. “We could indeed, my love.” 

Watson got up from the table and they shared a brief kiss before he left for his practice. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

The journey to Warwickshire was a long one. By the time they had transferred into a dog-cart for the journey from Wasperton, Holmes and Watson were both exhausted. 

Their appearance in the village had caused a certain amount of excitement. Although Holmes had written ahead to inform the housekeeper, word had not got about. Now it was apparent that ‘Mr Sherlock’ was returning to the house, chatter buzzed amongst the residents. 

“Are you not worried they may disturb our seclusion?” Watson asked once the cart had begun to rattle along. 

“No, no,” Holmes replied. “It has never been a problem before. They may gossip, but they know better than to disturb.” 

Holmes pointed out several features of interest along the journey and it was clear to Watson that his companion was becoming more relaxed. Indeed, seemingly with every mile distancing them from London, the tension in Holmes’s body had visibly lessened. When they reached the house, they were greeted by an older lady who Holmes introduced as Mrs Pulver. 

“She has been the housekeeper here for many years and looks after the house splendidly in our long absences. Mrs Pulver, this is my friend, Dr Watson.” 

She gave them a knowing look. “I’m pleased to meet you, Dr Watson. Lord knows it’s a relief to know that Mr Sherlock has someone to look after him.” 

Watson was startled but laughed heartily. “It’s no easy task, I’m afraid.” 

She nodded. “I know it well. Supper will be ready in an hour, gentlemen, so you’ve plenty of time to move yourselves in.” 

As she headed back inside, Holmes chuckled. “Mrs Pulver sees as much as Mrs Hudson and has known me rather longer.” 

“Does she know of your … proclivities?” Watson asked. 

“Yes, dearest,” Holmes replied, reaching for Watson’s hand. “Mercifully, she and her family have always been accepting and discrete.” 

Watson sighed. “That is a relief.” 

Holmes gave Watson’s hand a squeeze, before letting go and starting to move their bags in. It did not take long for them to move everything inside, then Holmes took Watson all around the house. Watson was mesmerised by the sight of Holmes moving around this place he knew so intimately. Holmes ran his hands over every surface, caressing door handles and the backs of chairs, as though he could navigate the house by touch alone. 

When Mrs Pulver summoned them for supper, she announced that she had prepared something special. “I’ve made some of your old favourites, Mr Sherlock. Lamb stew followed by honey cake.” 

“That sounds marvellous, Mrs Pulver,” Holmes responded. 

The stew was excellent, rich and tender. When they had polished it off, she brought in the honey cake. 

When Holmes took his first mouthful, he closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure. “Oh, that is perfect.” 

Watson smiled. “I take it that is still your favourite dessert?” 

“I have always loved the taste of honey,” Holmes replied, opening his eyes and favouring Watson with an answering smile. “I have often toyed with the idea of keeping my own bees when I retire.” 

“Perhaps I could maintain a garden to provide them with flowers,” Watson said. 

The implication of those words filled Holmes with a warmth he didn’t have words to describe. Comfortable silence stretched between them for a few moments as they smiled at each other. It seemed to Holmes that a golden future lay before them, as sweet as the honey on his tongue. 

When they had finished their cake, Mrs Pulver came back in to clear the dishes. “Shall I run you a bath before I withdraw, Mr Sherlock?” 

He had begun to feel weary and stiff from the long journey, so he agreed. “I think that would be just what I need.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Holmes found the bath very relaxing. His aches were soothed, and he felt more than ready for sleep. After Watson had also bathed, he joined Holmes in the bed, and they lay facing each other. Watson waited, allowing Holmes to make first contact when he was ready. 

“John,” Holmes murmured, reaching out to cup Watson’s cheek, “could you hold me?” 

Watson smiled softly. “Of course, my darling. Come here.” 

Watson gathered Holmes into his arms, holding him tight and nuzzling soft kisses to his temple. Holmes snuggled up to Watson, feeling safe and warm. 

“I love you,” Holmes mumbled sleepily. 

“I love you too,” Watson replied. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

The next few days were relatively uneventful. They spent their time in swimming and taking long walks. It was wonderful to them to be able to hold hands while they walked and not to be constantly looking over their shoulders. 

Their nights were blissful. Holmes had relaxed enough to be able to give himself over to pleasure. Both men were eager for each other, wanting to caress and savour as much as they could. They held each other afterwards, sleeping in contentment, each taking comfort from the other’s presence. 

They were at breakfast one morning when Mrs Pulver came in to announce that there was a visitor at the door. 

“It’s the butcher from the village,” she said. “He says he wants your advice.” 

“I’m not sure that you should, Holmes,” Watson cut in before Holmes could say anything. “You need rest.” 

“Nonsense, Watson, I feel quite refreshed already,” Holmes responded. “I am in need of some mental exercise. Would you show him in, Mrs Pulver?” 

Watson gave Holmes’s hand a squeeze under the table. “Don’t push yourself too much,” he murmured. 

Holmes squeezed back, then released Watson’s hand when the butcher entered the room. “Mr Howlett, how nice to see you. Let me introduce my friend and colleague, Dr Watson.” 

Howlett was a well-built man of about 40. His hair had begun to turn grey. He was clearly relieved to have been admitted, but his face betrayed a modicum of guilt. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Sherlock. I’m sorry to disturb your holiday.” 

“Not at all, my dear sir,” Holmes reassured him. “I can see that you are troubled. Pray sit down and tell us how we may assist you.” 

Howlett sat down and Watson poured him a cup of tea. Once he had taken a sip, he began his story. “Two years ago, I took on a young lad by the name of Henry Green as my apprentice. His parents have been friends of mine for many years, so I have known him from childhood. 

“He was excellent all through his apprenticeship. He always worked hard and learned quickly. After a year, I felt able to take him on as a proper assistant and increase his wages. 

“Up until a couple of months ago, I have been nothing but satisfied with his work. But now, something has happened which concerns me. He came to me one day to say that he had found a new supplier of fowl and game, and that the price would be lower than our main supplier. I agreed to start using this supplier for a trial. The quality of the meat we had from them was rather more variable than I was happy with, but when I told Henry that I wanted to stop using them he became angry. He wouldn’t hear of me dropping them. It seemed to me that he was afraid of them. I don’t know what to make of it.” 

Holmes raised a finger pensively to his lips, the fingers of his other hand drumming on the table. “This Henry Green is an upstanding, law-abiding youth, I take it?” 

Howlett nodded. “Oh yes. He has always been a sensible boy.” 

“Quite so. Hum.” Holmes was thoughtful for a few moments. “The twin facts of his having found this new supplier and his seeming afraid of them suggest to me that he may have fallen in with a gang of poachers who are now threatening him. We shall need to talk to him.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Henry Green kept his eyes trained on the floor while Holmes questioned him, his hands clenching. “I don’t want to get into any trouble, sir.” 

“Mr Green,” Watson interjected, “telling the truth of this business may well prevent you getting into any trouble. It certainly seems to me that the chief fault lies elsewhere.” 

Green swallowed nervously, giving a slight nod. “I am very sorry indeed for any trouble I have caused you, Mr Howlett. I never wanted to get involved in anything shady. An old group of friends of mine told me that they had an easy way of making an extra bit of money. By the time I found out they were poaching, it was too late to back out. They threatened both me and my family. But I never take part in the actual poaching, my job is to sell it on.” 

Holmes nodded gravely. “The fact that you are now helping us is to your credit, Mr Green. I believe our best course of action is to catch the gang in the act. When are they next due to make a delivery to you?” 

“Tonight.” 

“And where do they poach from?” 

“Coppington Farm.” 

“Then we must telegraph the local police and be ready to meet them there.” 

This they did. Shortly before nightfall they made their way to the farm and were met by a group of constables, led by an inspector who introduced himself as Richards. 

“This must be a bit of a come-down for you, Mr Holmes,” he said with a tone betraying some arrogance. “No room for fanciful theories in a case such as this.” 

“I have found it to be a rather refreshing exercise,” Holmes replied coolly, steadily meeting the inspector’s gaze. “Shall we go?” 

They moved off through the woods, keeping as quiet as they could. Once they reached a clearing that Green assured them was a common meeting place for the gang, they concealed themselves to wait. Crouched next to each other in the darkness, Watson could feel Holmes’s nervous tension, so he reached out and took Holmes’s hand. The warm pressure steadied Holmes and he squeezed Watson’s hand back, silently communicating his gratitude. 

They waited for half an hour before the gang appeared. There were four boys, each carrying an array of traps and a gun. 

When the boys had laid down their tools and were planning their manoeuvres, Holmes hissed, “Now.” 

The constables moved in. The boys put up a good fight and in the confusion one of the constables was knocked down and injured. It was fortunate that none had the presence of mind to draw their gun. Once the boys had been subdued and cuffed, Watson was able to see to the injured man. 

“It’s nothing too serious,” he said with relief when he had completed his examination. “A slight blow to the head and a contusion on the arm. I’ll wrap that with my handkerchief for now, but you should really have it properly dressed as soon as you can.” 

While Watson did this, Holmes oversaw the identification and arrest of all the poachers. It was to be a rather longer journey home than any of those boys had expected. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

It was late when Holmes and Watson arrived back at the house. The night was clear, and the moon shone brightly. Despite the lateness of the hour, both felt too energised to go to bed. Not wishing to disturb Mrs Pulver, they went up to the lake. 

“How do you feel now, Holmes?” Watson asked. “Was that sufficient mental stimulation?” 

Holmes laughed. “It was certainly good to be able to get something done,” he replied. “I have been stagnating for far too long.” 

They wrapped their arms around each other and stood together on the shore for a while, contemplating the scene. It was comfortably warm and very peaceful. 

“I want to have a swim,” Holmes said suddenly, disentangling himself from their embrace. 

Really, Holmes? Now?” Watson asked with a laugh. 

“Why not?” Holmes asked, already removing his shoes. “We are alone.” 

It wasn’t long before Holmes had stripped and got into the water. The temperature was pleasant, as it had been warmed by the sun for many days on end. He moved out until the water was up to his chest, enjoying the feeling of the water against his bare skin. He ducked down beneath the surface, wetting his hair. When he came back up again, he bobbed there lazily, watching Watson on the shore. 

“Won’t you join me, my darling?” he called. “The water’s lovely.” 

Watson sighed fondly. “Okay, Sherlock. I’ll come in.” 

Holmes watched as Watson removed his clothes and entered the water. In the moonlight, Holmes thought Watson was utterly breath-taking. Watson moved out to where Holmes was floating, then pulled him into a kiss. They kissed again and again, revelling in the feelings of their bodies together in the water and their tongues caressing. Hands freely roamed over bare skin, cataloguing ribs and scars, eliciting gasps of breath when they found sensitive spots. When they pulled back, both were smiling. 

“Are we actually going to swim?” Watson asked cheekily. 

Holmes laughed again. “Alright, I’ll race you over to the other side.” 

They swam back and forth several times before coming together again in the shallows. They kissed again, wrapping their arms around each other. Holmes shivered when Watson skimmed a hand down his back to rest on his bottom, making his skin tingle wonderfully. 

“Are you cold, my love?” Watson murmured. 

“No, John,” Holmes replied. “It feels different when you touch me in the water, like the sensations are enhanced.” 

Smiling, Watson inclined his head for another kiss. 

Some while later, they lay together in bed, legs tangled together, sharing the afterglow of their lovemaking. Holmes pressed a gentle kiss to Watson’s chest, then settled down with his head nestled in the crook of Watson’s neck. 

“You were wonderful today, John,” Holmes murmured. 

Watson kissed Holmes’s temple softly. “Really?” 

“Of course. Thank you, mon trésor.” 

“What does that mean, darling?” 

“It means my treasure.” 

Watson laughed slightly, his breath ghosting over Holmes’s face. “I love you too, Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> I chose Warwickshire because that's where Jeremy came from. The places mentioned are real.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Treat for the Senses [Fan Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29156004) by [FredTheDinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredTheDinosaur/pseuds/FredTheDinosaur)




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